I don’t know when, after tonight, we will see each other again. Unless you visit me in the States, it could be quite some time. You know that monogamy isn’t for me. It never was. I told you this before we met. But life so often surprises. I can’t make any promises for what will happen if we do meet up, whether we will fuck. Today, however, I can state with absolute conviction that *I* *am* *yours*. I belong to you. This may never happen again. It behooves us to make circumstance our bitch.

I want your company — in bed and out of it. More than this, I crave your dominance. I desire to be a girl possessed. I require your strength. You can punish me for topping from below — please do! — but I insist upon it. I need you to be rough with me. I want to be totally fucked by you. Use my mouth. Use my cunt. Use my ass. Use them just as you please. I am three holes for your pleasure. I am a slut for one cock only. It’s yours, Amadeo. You own the penis, so you own the woman. I am a plaything, a fuck-toy, the clay that you mold. I am your willing and submissive zero pound whore. I am to be taken hard and challenged. Be harsh with me. Do this. I want you to.

Leave your mark on my body. Beat my buttocks and my breasts. Pull my hair. Place bruises on my skin, bite marks, welts, hickeys. Sign your name on me with indelible ink after each of my orgasms. I want the evidence of the night to linger for days. I want to remember you as I sit uncomfortably in the airplane. I want other lovers to see what you have done.

Slap my pussy. Be brutal to my clitoris. Hold me down by the windpipe and tighten your grip on my throat while you claim my mouth with your tongue and my vagina with your penis. Fuck me with your feet. I will lick the soles and suck your toes afterwards. I will lap the hollows of your arms. Place your fist inside my cunt, twist it within me slowly, unball your fingers under my womb, stretch them out. Make your hand big inside. I am, after all, your fuck puppet. Have me rim your asshole. I will kiss your anus, layering the opening with spit to begin, lowering my tongue beyond the sphincter, slurping at your bung in the exact manner that you devour my pussy. If it is your wish, I will do this for hours. I want to please you so very much.

My vagina throbs when I think about compressing its muscles about your shaft. I am wet inside my panties. I touch myself and ramp the arousal to stratospheric heights.

Piss on me. Come over me. I will wear your bodily fluids proudly. I will drink them down and thank you for the privilege.

I want your presence. I want to have your weight over my body. I want to be blanketed by your warmth. I feel small beside you and protected. I want to bestow on you what pleasure I can. This is my main purpose tonight, my sole concern. More so than the orgasms that render me speechless, more so than a ticket to subspace, more so than the memories that will linger for years, this shall be my joy.

I am an obedient girl. I will do what you say.

I know you will make me laugh. I expect you will make me cry. I will come so many times, with permission and without. We will say farewell, but we won’t say goodbye. And who knows what may follow?

See you in one hour, lover.

Your dutiful slut,

Leah

~

The last date

What I wrote happened, more or less. It was a third consecutive night of sex. But such weekends are the reason I spend an hour at the gym every day.

We met up in the early afternoon for lunch, and then Amadeo gave me a tour of his office, which I had been asking to see. Unfortunately, even though it was a Sunday, there were people around. We kissed and touched a little, but our clothes stayed on. I enjoyed learning about his current projects. As I had errands to run, I left Amadeo, did the things I needed to do, dropped stuff off at the apartment in which I was staying, sent the e-mail I quoted above, and proceeded out again after I had eaten a quick dinner.

I traveled to Amadeo’s apartment wearing sensible shoes, thigh high black nylon stockings, a winter coat, and nothing else. It was a curious feeling to be on the tube almost naked. On the escalator out of the bowels of the underground, the man behind me may have noticed what I wasn’t wearing. He followed me up the stairs at the end, being sure to remain several steps behind me. The chill outside made my nipples peak. The cold air swirled between my legs. The shivers were worth it. Amadeo approved when the coat came off.

The new ingredient was the caning. He has a rattan cane among the toys he keeps in the bedroom closet, but we haven’t played with this much in the past. Amadeo had me bend over and clutch my ankles. He stood behind me. Through my legs, I saw his erection wave at me. He tested the cane. It wooshed through the air. His hands stroked the insides of my thighs and spread the moisture from my pussy over an expanse of skin. When he felt that anticipation had assumed a sufficient pitch, he hit me. He struck the backs of my thighs. The cane landed heavily on the fleshy part of the buttocks. It thudded on my back. The pain at the point of impact was sharp and stinging. It made me yelp. Often, he repeated several times over the same spot. The skin burned after the fact. The nerve endings seared. Following a particularly fierce impact, I involuntarily straightened. The cane cut sharply across the side of my thigh. The pressure on the small of my back compelled me down. His steely voice negated dissent.

I cried. The sobs racked my body. My breathing became heavy. I thought it hurt too much to continue. But I bit my lower lip and summoned the will to keep going. He asked me to ask him to hit me harder, and I did this in sentences that broke through a cloud of tears. In the end, he went to his knees. His tongue followed the lines of welts that marred my skin.

He turned me around and looked up at me from his knees. His tongue licked along the slit. Amadeo positioned me over the bed. I was on my back. The nerves beneath me throbbed. He forced my legs open and raised my arms above my head. He didn’t tie me down, but instructed me nevertheless not to move. I knew what would follow. My hands gripped the sheets. I spread the legs wider for him. The cane slashed over my tits. He struck a dozen times, then worked the tops of my thighs. I screamed. He stuffed his boxer shorts in my mouth to muffle the sounds. Muscles in his upper arms and torso rippled. Though he tempered his strength on my breasts, no such quarter was given to my legs. It hurt immeasurably. But I wanted it. I could absorb this punishment. I wanted to be his good girl. Amadeo spoke in a soft voice that encouraged me even as the cane wounded. I concentrated on the regular, deep rhythms of his breathing. I closed my eyes and drew within my mind and entered a warm and submissive place. In the end, he dropped the wood and buried his face in my cunt and licked me gently. He sucked on the clit until I came. In the aftermath of the orgasm, which I kissed from his cheeks and chin, he fingered my bruised nipples. We chatted as he massaged my back and rubbed salve over my buttocks and thighs.

Amadeo and I started our friendship with an e-mail. He answered an ad on Craigslist. The fantasy he had proposed was too extreme for me, especially on a first date. The intelligence and humor in his message intrigued me, however. I replied, and we got to talking. His appeal grew. Amadeo’s demeanor and attitude engendered confidence when we met. Early on, I had the sense that he could become a regular dom. I am so happy that he did.

Amadeo asked me again about his initial fantasy. I am still not ready for it. So we negotiated a compromise. As he made the preparations, I spent forty-five minutes curled over the rug on the floor. He had me chained to the radiator, which heated me nicely. (He prefers a cooler temperature than I like.) At the lowest setting, a vibrator buzzed agreeably in my cunt. I wasn’t allowed to touch my pussy. I wasn’t allowed to come. I flipped through the pictures in an art book while I waited. It distracted my attention from the still singing nerve endings. Amadeo walked over, called me bitch, and ruffled my hair affectionately. The tip of a finger stroked between my cleavage and trailed on a downward trajectory to my clitoris, which he pointedly did not touch. He sucked my nipples and dangled ropes of saliva into my open mouth. He took a dram of Laphroaig and let it spill from his lips into mine and then did the same with fizzy sparkling water. I stretched. My pussy and pubis were pleasantly sore. I was more aware of the stiffness in my thighs and back.

When he had finished cleaning, he showed me water in the depression of his hand, and then he tipped the hand to his lips and swallowed it. After that, he led me by the chain, which looped my throat and was secured by a luggage lock. I padded after him into the bathroom. He unfastened the lock. The chain tinkled to ground.

The side of my face squashed up against the bottom of the toilet cover. He directed the stream of piss against my face. I closed my eyes and felt the warmth of it pass over my eyelid and along the nose and cheek. The color was a pale yellow. When he had finished, I blotted the urine on the glans with my tongue and sucked the penis to hardness. He slipped a condom over the erection. I turned. My hands gripped the porcelain rim of the toilet, and I braced myself. The cock entered my pussy from behind.

I trusted Amadeo.

With my head in the bowl, which was full of urine and toilet water, he fucked me. My face touched the surface of the liquid. My hair became wet. His hand pushed hard against the back of my head to keep me in place. He flushed the toilet. The sudden suction of the water below took me by surprise. The jets of water splashed my face as the toilet filled up. His cock pounded my cunt at a furious pace. My face was in and out of the water repeatedly. I took rapid breaths through my mouth. He didn’t hold my head underwater for long periods of time; I could, in fact, take in air easily.

Under the circumstances, Amadeo didn’t last long within my cunt. He gave a massive groan and came in my pussy. It took fewer than five minutes from start to finish.

I removed the condom and inverted it and slurped the semen inside. I licked and sucked his shaft. Then, I dunked my head back into the toilet, closed my eyes, and washed my face with another flush.

My mouth filled with water, and I sputtered it back out. I dipped my hand in and collected more water, which I wiped over his chest and groin and thighs. Amadeo laughed. He kissed me. His tongue licked my cheeks. He bit the tip of my nose. The water sprayed from me as I shook my head like a dog. I lapped the drops that had splashed the rim. He moaned when he saw this. The erection resurrected itself. He reached for me.

~

Philosophical remarks

Sex is dirty. Sex is vulgar. Sex is rough.

As I had requested, the last meeting with Amadeo was exceptionally intense. It deviated in an unexpected direction. I was a willing participant throughout. I enjoyed myself. Though the bruises remained for a week, I have no regrets.

Water bondage is a fantasy that Amadeo has nursed for years. The symbolism mattered to him greatly. With my head bent over the toilet waiting for him to place his cock inside me, I thought how terrible could this possibly be when he had spent most of an hour cleaning until the white porcelain was fit to eat from and demonstrated this to me by drinking the water first? It absolutely would not hurt the way the caning had. After it was done, I was happy that I had been able to offer him something new.

I tend not to rationalize sex and submission along the axes of humiliation and degradation. Amadeo and I can play as hard as we do because I know that he respects me. The discussions we have, despite a sixteen year gap in age and experience, are the social interactions of equals. We happen to have complementary sexual tastes. We enjoy kink and the D/s dynamic in the bedroom. Crucially, all of this is only play. I am not a second class human being for surrendering control over the patterns of sex. He does not make me feel inferior to him. How could he when he licks the water from the toilet off my face?

When Amadeo and I started seeing each other, I had a boyfriend in Boston. My great worry during our time together was the possibility that he was getting too attached. To preempt this and to maintain a modicum of distance, I chose to restrict our encounters to one day a week. I also made sure he knew there were others in my sexual life. Still, our relationship flourished, and the friendship deepened. To me, he is one of the touchstones of the city, like the National Gallery or the Southbank Centre. I can’t think of London without remembering the nights we shared. I miss him. For sexual fulfillment, for safe journeys to subspace and back, for sex as provocation and challenge and adventure, for kink as a lifeline, I am in his debt.

~

The next meeting

I have asked Amadeo to visit me in Boston. He said he would try to come in May. He also promised to be a better correspondent. I hope we pick up again where we left off.

In the meanwhile, I have David. We have met up twice since I have been back. He introduced me to electrostimulation. The sensations are novel. Over the weekend, he and I fucked until we could no longer remain awake, slept for a few hours, woke up renewed, and proceeded to fuck some more. My friend Ab, an irregular regular who teaches biology at a middle school, plans to take me to a swingers’ club on St. Valentine’s night. There’s always something. I keep discovering new dimensions to sex.

I am back in the United States. I have two more stories to tell about London. I had my final Wednesday date with Amadeo. Frank came to visit on Friday and saw me off to Heathrow on Saturday. Both these goodbyes were tinged with sadness. I am friendly with Marshall, the man I have seen several times during the last weeks. Though we have out of this world sex, we aren’t especially tight. I am not broken up about leaving him. With Amadeo and Frank, the situation is different. I miss them terribly.

On the seventh day of the month of September in the year two thousand and eleven, Amadeo brought me to subspace one last time.

He took me in every orifice. Using my ears as handles, he throat fucked me. The saliva spilled from my mouth, falling in thick ropes that left a puddle on the floor. The tug of wrists wrenching both of my arms from their sockets, he impaled my anus onto his cock and battered my ass from behind. He pinned my wrists high above my head with one of his enormous paws, and while his cock pounded my cunt, I sucked and bit on the fingers in my mouth. After I came, he licked my puffy and swollen pussy with an abundance of gentleness. I brought his hands to my breasts while he ate me out. He deposited kisses over the water smooth pubis and swirled his tongue round and round the orgasm engorged clit. The pussy licking was the prelude to a fisting. It took him twenty minutes to squeeze inside. I couldn’t see it happen — not fully — flat as I was on my back, breathing hard, and clenching the sheets. I concentrated on his speech, and he talked me through the process of fitting his hand into my cunt until the muscles at the entrance stretched like a rubber band about his wrist. I was a mitten. I was a glove. My hair was swimming in sweat. I resided in a hazy and contented place with his fist inside.

Amadeo’s aftercare was exquisite. He held me protectively.

He took me over his lap and spanked me. The barehand blows landed over my buttocks in fortissimo thunderclaps that set my ass to rippling. The heat seared into the flesh. The skin turned an angry red. The muscles ached. Wriggling his hand between my thighs, Amadeo discovered a sopping cunt. In the intervals, he fingered my pussy lips and clitoris. He left no bruises but nevertheless walloped me until I was beyond screaming. Tears bespoke pain. But I was also aware that this could be the end. I will miss our nights together. Orgasm came to me in an adrenaline and endorphin fueled rush.

I brought a blubbering face to his penis and sucked him softly, savoring his scents and flavors, the heft of his cock between my lips, and the taste of precome on my tongue. When he was perfectly rigid and yearning, I placed a condom over the erection. Amadeo took me slowly from above. The cock imposed itself to the balls, then retreated completely. My hands tightened on his arms and shoulders, and I kissed him. He kept removing the penis from my cunt and slapping the shaft over my pubis. He painted the moisture from inside over the skin.

I went to sleep with the meter long chain that attached to my collar looped around the headboard of the bed. Amadeo’s recumbent body radiated its heat next to me. He had begun on his side, spooning me, with an arm folded over my breasts. We were both horizontal now, stretched out and supine. He took in deep breaths of air in his sleep. I fingered the cold metal links of the chain and shut my eyes. My pussy was sore from fucking.

In the shower in the morning, I took pleasure in washing his body. I rinsed soap from his underarms and followed with kisses. I used foam to pattern white arcs over his backside. I tasted the skin that I had cleaned. I sponged his cock and sucked him under the water stream. After the orgasm, which produced only the smallest spoonful of ejaculate, I extended Amadeo’s left leg and kissed my way down to his ankle. Taking his foot in hand, I licked along the arch. Fingernails scratched the sole and tickled. I sucked his big toe just as I had minutes before sucked his glans. My tongue flickered into the crevice between the big toe and the longer one next to it. I lapped at the top of the foot and along its sides. My lips left kisses over the pads of his toes. I pressed the sole against my cheek, and I nosed at the heel.

Once we had reversed positions, Amadeo held the showerhead and pointed it over my body. I closed my eyes and stood on my toes, wrapped my arms around his neck, and enjoyed the unhurried kisses while he soaped my tits and back. Bringing my arms in the air, he washed my armpits and flank. He rubbed in circles over my belly, skirted the pussy, and continued on to my legs. I propped a foot on his knee as soapy hands slid along the leg. He scrubbed between the toes. After he had rinsed my cunt lips, he pressed his face down hard and licked me. Turning me against the wall, he gnawed the flesh of my buttocks and the hollow of the neck where it meets the shoulder. He shampooed my hair with exceptional care. I went to my knees again and let the back of my head brush against his penis.

On the drive to the university, whenever he could spare it from the stick shift, he placed his hand on the inner part of my thigh. Rising to tiptoes, I wrapped his shoulder and back and hugged him next to the car when we arrived. We kissed, once, twice, and held each other. I waited for him to dissolve the hug. I clasped his right hand in my left and his left in my right. We drifted apart.

“Farewell, lover,” I whispered. Then louder: “See you around.” The smile reached his eyes.

I don’t know what I can say about Frank. The fucking was likely the purest sex I have had in London. It wasn’t the all night orgy some of our previous encounters were. We did it once in the evening and again in the morning. We did it in my flat, on my bed, over sheets I abandoned, with my packed luggage by the side of the door. It was funny. It was comfortable. We had intensely personal conversations and companionable silences. It wasn’t the least bit romantic. The sex affirmed a friendship, one that, I hope, will endure through the distance and the decades.

It will be ages — well, months — before my next rendezvous with either of these men. It will happen though. And possibly we will renew our acquaintance in bed. I would like that very much.

These are some of the terms he uses for me — the descriptions in English anyway. The names are endearments. Amadeo may have unloaded half his arsenal of expletives on me last night.

He wrapped scarves about my wrists and ankles, looped a noose of yellow rope about the red silk on each limb, and tied me to the four corners of his bed. Once I was spread-eagled this way, he whipped my breasts and toyed with my pussy, using fingers, a vibrator, kitchen implements, and his tongue. The ball gag muffled my screams. The fisting was exquisite agony. The tension in my arms and legs when he smothered me with his body and fucked my long tormented and cock deprived cunt was unendurable ecstasy. I soaked his sheets.

He has tie points installed into the headboard and the footboard of his bedframe. He looped rope through them and had me spread-eagled over the mattress. Using first a wooden spatula from the kitchen and then a riding crop, he spanked my cunt. He struck the pussy lips past the point of pain and into a state of numbness. The blows landed exactly and accurately over the distended and exposed clitoris. I had asked him to do this to me.

Afterwards, Amadeo spread himself in the space between my stretched apart legs and worked his mouth over pubis and pussy. His tongue threaded into the folds of the flesh and teased the wetness out of me. He licked the engorged lips. His fingers reached inside and pushed against the G-spot. The pressure there made the clit stand out. I felt my spine elongate and extend while he lapped at the clitoris. My arms lengthened as I tugged at the bonds around my wrists.

Attendant to my arousal, the blood throbbed in the flesh. The clit trilled under his ministrations.

Amadeo would not let me come. He brought me to the escarpment and deliberately backed me off. He simply wouldn’t touch me, neither with his fingers, nor with his tongue while I hovered at the edge.

He turned his attention to my breasts instead. He licked around the areolae. He sucked on the nipples, bit down on the nubs, and chomped. The nerve endings screamed their pain. Lips gave voice to their agony.

Amadeo kissed me intimately. He looked down on me and stuck his tongue out as far as he could.

“Suck it like it’s my cock,” he said.

Lifting my head from the pillow, I brought my mouth over the point of tongue. I compacted my lips and kissed wetly there. Applying a loud and persistent suction that pulled the tonguetip inside past the rows of teeth, I closed my eyes and spun my face by degrees.

His fingers touched over my much abused pussy lips. He smeared the wetness that had escaped my cunt over them. Two fingers pressed in. He fucked them in and out.

“You’re not allowed to come without permission,” he stated.

Amadeo returned to sucking my nipples, far more gently this time. A pair of his fingers stretched all the way inside my vagina and pivoted within. The knuckles of the other fingers brushed over my pubis. Five minutes of this and I felt loose and wet inside. My muscles tightened about his hand. My ankles strained at the rope. My knees bent, and my thighs lifted up. Amadeo pushed my center flat against the mattress and continued fingering me while he nursed.

After a time, Amadeo compressed my breasts together and slid his cock between them. After a time, he straddled my head and gave me the front half of his penis to suck. After a time, he lowered his balls into my mouth and turned himself around so that I could rim his ass.

I craned my neck up and buried my face in the crevice of his buttocks. Nose riding into the crease, my tongue lapped at the exiguous ridges that surrounded the anus. He spread his cheeks so that I could lap more easily at the pucker. Gingerly, the tip of my tongue poked past his sphincter. He let me lick for a while, then returned his penis to my lips. From this position, he spread his body over mine so his weight was on top and initiated sixty-nine. His tongue circled my clitoris. He kissed into my cunt. The two fingers dug in again. He scissored them apart and slipped his tongue between the digits, which he fucked in and out while he tongued over slit and clit.

I moaned around the cock in my mouth and sucked harder. This caused him to redouble the exertions of his tongue. My saliva streamed down the sides of his shaft and made my face sticky.

“Tell me when you get close,” he said. While he applied suction to the clit, he also jabbed his penis against the roof of my mouth.

I didn’t have to tell him. He knew how to read my body and backed off on his own. He turned himself, crawled between my legs, and dedicated his endeavors to bringing me repeatedly to the precipice of a soaring orgasm. He brought me there, and he held me back.

I begged him to let me come.

He steadfastly ignored my entreaties. The look on my face, the desperate want, my needy pleas — these amused him. He brought a vibrator out and pressed it against the clit while he licked my opening. He extended the index and middle fingers inside as far as he could manage and rotated his hand at the wrist. He finger fucked the digits in and out swiftly and then returned to a slow turn while he lapped at the folds.

I stared down at him while he brought me to the ragged edge. I held tightly to the rope. My legs struggled with their bonds while I squirmed in my torment.

I wanted to come. I told him this again and again. I verbalized my desire, explaining to him how much I wanted my parole. I tried persuasion. I asked nicely. I requested him to shove me over the edge of this cliff to which he had led me. I implored. I pleaded. I beseeched. It was in vain, for he wouldn’t allow it. After some minutes, I stopped importuning him for consent. Rather, I screeched epithets.

“Not till I say so,” he insisted. He laughed at the names that I invented for him.

In addition to a change of clothes, toiletries, and a couple of articles of lingerie that he likes, I keep a steel dildo in Amadeo’s apartment. He placed it inside and fucked me with it. Initially, the metal was cold to the touch, but my body heat warmed it up. It felt extremely heavy — far more so than any cock. It filled me up. My muscles stretched to accommodate the unbending steel, especially when Amadeo angled it against the sides of my cunt. It was long enough that the massive rounded knob prodded at sensitive places deep within. To the reconnaissance of pussy, he supplied torque to twirl the metal inside me, which he knew I enjoyed. Mostly he fucked me with the dildo, using the strength in his powerful upper arm to control the depth and the velocity of the movements.

I panted hard. He diddled my clit. Looking down at my stretched out body, I focused my attention on my toes, how I wiggled them, on the grain of the footboard of the bed and the color of the oak, on how my legs stretched apart, bound as they were by rope. My eyes scrunched shut with the effort of concentration. Sweat beaded on my forehead and streamed down the sides of my face.

Under ordinary circumstances, I would have creamed hard repeatedly by the time we had arrived at this point in the evening. I could not come without permission, however. I inhabited a submissive place. I determined to play this game to its conclusion. My imperative was to obey his instruction. I would come only when he assented to my orgasm. I rationalized that it would be his gift to me.

Amadeo didn’t offer me his permission. But neither did he torture me for long. He extracted the dildo and laid it over the mattress of the bed. Cupping my tits with his large hands, he kissed me gently and for the longest time. His saliva lowered into my throat. His tongue explored the inner surfaces of my mouth and made my cheeks bulge. He sucked and nipped and nibbled and chewed upon my bottom lip. He touched the pussy lips with a profound softness and with infinite care. Not for the first time, Amadeo made love to me.

This interlude of gentleness was followed by partial fisting. Amadeo squeezed four fingers inside me and folded them on top of each other and located the thumb parallel and facing down in the valley of the digits. He turned the hand at the wrist and screwed the fingers in to their bottom bend. The knuckles pressed at me from below the cunt. My juices coated his hand in a thick grease.

I could have come at any instant. He needed only to give the word. But he didn’t. So I contained my orgasm. I was a bitch held at bay not by the ropes that restrained me, but by dint of willpower.

The bastard wouldn’t produce the order to let go. Instead, he rolled a condom over himself and provisioned me with his penis. He laid on top of me with the cock ensconced to the balls. He fucked my cunt with short rabbit thrusts. But mostly, he remained motionless over my body with his shaft embedded fully within. His massive frame crushed my breasts flat. He reached above my head and tugged the rope about my wrists. He gnawed at the cartilage at the top of my ear and spun his tongue around my earring. His cock lunged in and out in concise and punctuated bursts.

I gritted my teeth. I shook my head from side to side. I thought of mundane aspects of life to distract myself.

He didn’t complete. “I don’t come, you don’t come,” he said, and pinned me to the mattress with his cock.

He left the fuck unfinished, departed the bedroom, and returned from the kitchen with fruit that he fed me and water to rehydrate my parched throat. He sat on the mattress and read to me from Sade.

I needed to pee. He loosened the bonds and followed me into the bathroom. While I urinated from a sitting position, Amadeo had me spread my legs wide apart. He directed the flow of his piss at my pussy. The two streams joined. His urine and mine fell with a splash and tinkled together in the toilet. He pointed his penis higher and stepped closer to me. The urine fell over my belly and sheeted down my pubis. At the end of it, when our bladders had emptied, he gave me his glans to suck. I closed my eyes and took the crown into my mouth. My tongue blotted the tip of the residues of piss.

I went to my knees before the toilet and sucked Amadeo with a wet mouth and the consistent application of pressure. Droplets of pee dripped onto the floor from the lips of my pussy. After his thick and milky semen had barreled into my stomach, he ran his big toe along my slit, then helped me to my feet.

It was late. Amadeo said that he was spent. Rather than letting me masturbate myself, he promised to fuck me to orgasm in the morning. My disappointment was evident, but I acquiesced with as good grace as I could muster. We curled up naked beneath the covers and spoke in whispers. I fell asleep with his chest spooned against my back and one of his hands covering my breasts.

I woke at four in the morning. The latex sheathed penis fumbled at the gates of my cunt. My arms encircled Amadeo’s back. I raised my legs into the air and pulled him down by the shoulders. The instant he was in me, I was wide awake. The sex was uncomplicated. Amadeo pounded me from above. The shaft pistoned in and out with speed and metronomic precision.

“You can come,” he had stated when we started. He gathered my wrists in one his hands and lifted my arms high above my head. He kissed me.

The denial of orgasm in the hours previous left my nerves confused. I wasn’t on the edge any longer, and it took me long minutes to work up to a state of frenzy. When I was there, my pussy fountained.

The orgasm began deep in the walls of my vagina. It rippled from the interior out to the periphery. Every one of my nerve endings thrilled. First it was in my cunt exclusively. Then it was everywhere. I blinkered my eyes shut and saw the stars of the galaxy in supernova. Watery ejaculate gushed explosively from my pussy. It made an arc and sprayed onto his belly and rained back over my thighs and onto the clean, white bed linen. The penis slipped out of my cunt. Amadeo maneuvered it back in at once. He fucked me through the flood now. The liquid issued forth in waves and left the bedsheets sodden.

The inundation stilled momentarily. Then the paroxysms commenced again. My pussy spilled. Under such stimulation, Amadeo could not suppress his instinct to spew. The shaft convulsed, which set the walls of my vagina to quaking. The orgasm poured out of me one more time to match his eruption.

Amadeo has a large hand. Lubrication dripped from it and soaked the bedspread. Three fingers were in me, fucking in and out of the slit. A fourth, the pinky, easily joined the others. He poured more of the oil into the trough of his fingers and folded the thumb between them.

I didn’t have a clear view of what was happening. The constant stream of commentary allayed any trepidation I felt. Amadeo wanted to fist me. As I said, his hand is large.

Four fingers had slipped in to the bottom knuckle. The palm flared out just beyond.

The air entered and exited my lungs in shallow convulsions, the intake of breath in time with a thrust inside, a sharp gasp released, and an exhale as he pulled the hand fractionally out and twisted.

“I am going to push now,” he informed.

I nodded consent. I took a deep breath and held it. My ass tilted up from the mattress.

He pushed. I bore down with my muscles, chomped my teeth together, and grunted. The pussy stretched to admit his hand.

I looked down again at the space between my legs when the movement had finished.

“Almost there,” he said. The hand rotated but its forward motion diminished.

The thumb had almost disappeared. Amadeo’s hand had inched inside to the very bottom where the heel and the base of the palm jutted out.

He poured out more of the lubricant. My cunt ached.

He kissed the top of my pussy. His tongue swept over the clitoris. “Ready?” he asked.

I looked him in the eyes and rolled my head back and closed my own. My thighs parted. I swallowed another deep breath. He pushed again, adding a sideways twist to his movement. The breaths came hard and heavy. So also the groans. He pressed down, and I struggled to relax my muscles and allow the walls of the vagina to go slack. When he stopped forcing his hand at me, he was inside to the wrist. Always, when I am fisted, it looks amazing.

We had fucked first. He had employed the metal dildo that he had given me. We had inserted a thick cucumber wearing a condom. It had taken us fifteen more minutes to secrete his hand inside. He wiggled his fingers then. I felt them move.

I looked down at him and smiled. The smile became a chuckle and then a deep throated laugh. The intensity of the experience was overwhelming. This was a moment of nervous relief. A sense of satisfaction and accomplishment covered me like a warm blanket.

Amadeo pivoted his hand and settled the wrist. The entrance to the vagina made a tight band around him. He stretched his fingers experimentally, pushing against the deep spot in the back that I had told him about. I winced at the contact with the cervix and purred when he found the swollen bundle of nerves inside.

It took another ten minutes for him to collapse his hand into a fist. The walls of the cunt were elastic. They made room. But their plasticity came with strain and effort. I swam in my perspiration. The hair plastered to my forehead. My breasts reflected the bright bedroom light. Sweat stung my eyes. I blinked the prickling away.

He spun the fist inside me. He jostled the hand at the wrist, moving forward and backward an infinite inch, punching into the vacant space.

He tongued around my pussy, lapping at the distended, engorged clitoris. He touched a vibrator to the agonized bundle of nerves and rolled his right hand within me. His left hand, splayed over the curve of my belly, held me to the bed. The fingers clenched and unclenched inside. The knuckles pressed at the G-spot. The face of the finger rubbed against the anterior fornix.

I clutched his forearm in a death grip and came. This connection — the whiteness in my knuckles — was my anchor to the world.

Once the orgasms started, they would not stop. A dam had burst. The levees had broken. The waters escaped the walls of the vagina. They cascaded out the pores in front. The clitoris twitched constantly. My moisture sluiced between his fingers. At the end of it, once Amadeo had extracted his sodden hand from my pussy aided by muscles pushing, he brought his head down to snap up the labia with his lips. His head shook from side to side like a dog’s, and he rasped his tongue over my clit. I squirted square into his face.

Life has a way of generating complication. I had one set of deadlines at the end of August. A second set in the middle of September looms. While I was dealing with school, I didn’t have the ten hours a week to spare for blogging. I realized this as I was writing day five, which I never got around to proofreading until today. In any case, during a string of all-nighters, there isn’t much time for sex.

Here are some stories from the past weeks that I am not going to tell you about in any detail.

Day six: The boyfriend finds the spot deep in my pussy that makes me fountain. He presses his lips against my clit while I orgasm. Afterwards, he fists me. The memory of his hand inside and how it turns leaves me wet for days.Day seven: The boyfriend has too much to drink. Deciding that putting his clothes on and walking to the shared bathroom is too great an effort, he uses me as a toilet. Twice he wakes me. He pisses slowly so that I can swallow his beery urine. In the morning, I wake him with a blowjob. He chases the semen with his full bladder, moaning his pleasure while I drink.Day eight: The last spanking is a caning. It leaves red stripes on my ass. The skin eventually turns a deep purple.Day nine: Sneaking into the men’s bathroom to fuck, we share a quickie at the airport. While his plane is in the air, I am at home. I smear the residues of semen over my clit and masturbate.

Three times since the boyfriend left and most recently yesterday, Frank spent the night. As always, the sex was inspired, but also conventional. I prefer more complexity. Claire and I are thinking of ambushing Frank together to see how he reacts.

Last Friday, Dr. Williams e-mailed me. I hadn’t planned to see him again, but he caught me when I was feeling particularly horny. I went to his office. I spent an hour under his desk, sucking his cock and licking his feet while he conferenced on the computer with his colleagues in Canada. It was fun to bring him close to orgasm and ease him away while he had to conceal the sensations and talk shop. I felt powerful at his feet. I pressed his heel against my pussy and used the friction to masturbate myself. We fucked. I pretended to be his student. We started on the easy chair and ended on his desk, which is piled high with papers. My legs were up in the air. He covered my mouth with his hand to stifle my screams. The neighboring offices probably heard me anyway.

So that’s the sex life. Now, it’s back to work for Leah. I will see you when I see you.

She isn’t my type physically. But she has a smile and a charm, an easy way of speaking, and, oh, there’s that laugh. I haven’t been with a woman since February. I go home with her.

***

We have been chatting because she liked my ad on Collarme, an alternative to Craigslist that I have been exploring. Like me, she switches with women. Like me, she prefers a submissive role to men. Like me, she is in a long distance relationship. While her partner is away, she amuses herself with the girls that she finds.

***

Her art covers her walls. I don’t find the canvases appealing. At their best, it’s Modi on a very bad day, though, I suppose, the bulk of Modi’s days weren’t good. The erotic drawings are better. They’re scenes of orgies. A woman masturbates two men at once while she sucks off a third man. Girls are doubled and tripled up. Ariadne mounts the Minotaur. Her cunt is a labyrinth. There is a small self-portrait among her pictures. She is on her knees licking semen from a girl’s cunt. A man has her on a leash. Another man, the one who has come, stands over the two females on the ground. His cock is dripping.

***

In the bedroom, we strip each other and kiss. My tongue is lazy in tracing her body’s curves. I nurse at her large breasts. My lips dawdle over her belly, floating slowly down. She keeps a soft thatch of hair on top of her pussy. I swipe my fingers through, following with my mouth. Unhurriedly, I descend to her glistening cunt. I kiss the lips below as I have kissed the lips above. My fingers delve into the secret spaces, front and back. She hands me a vibrator. Slender, pink, the writing on it is worn from use. I set it to buzzing against her clitoris while I lick at the passage. Her scents are overpowering. She tastes of musk and spice and sweetness. I make her come four times in half an hour.

***

She has a two sided dildo that is a foot and a half long and a translucent blue. She puts one end in her cunt and has me sit astride the other. The dildo is bendy. It is a challenge to find an angle that works for both of us. We abandon the sex toy and rub our pussies together directly. Tribadism, it is called. Her legs wrap mine. I press my hard clit at her entrance like it is a tiny cock. We come this way, flooding over pubises and legs.

***

There are restraints affixed to the corners of the bed. I slip into them. She buckles the leather belts over my wrists and ankles. Out comes a riding crop. She uses it to slap my breasts and thighs. She asks my age and spanks my pussy once for each year I have lived. The pain sears the nerves. I scream as the world burns in agony. She kisses my tears when she finishes and offers herself for my revenge.

***

I fist her. The lube covers my hand like grease. It is slow going. Fingers thrust together, I make my hand narrow and muscle a way through. The back of the hand, where the knuckles jut out, is a difficult squeeze, but she is wet and my hand is small. We manage. When I am inside to the wrist, I roll the hand in her cunt and swim in viscous fluids. The pads of my fingers poke at the walls of the vagina and add a twist. I reach in as far as I am able and clench my fingers into a fist. The water issues from her pores. I see it cascading over the folds. I lap at her piquant juices.

***

The mouth is everywhere on me, everywhere esurient, everywhere edacious — lipping the skin, nipping and nibbling, gnawing and knowing. The point of her tongue spins, the contact a tittle, titillation. The flat of the tongue is painting in broad brushstrokes on a canvas of strained, stained flesh. I am singing. The notes are soprano. It is an aria of indecent whispers, obscene imprecations, slanderous, scabrous, scurrilous, and without shame.